


The Unnamed

by thefandomexpert



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Redemption, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:51:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandomexpert/pseuds/thefandomexpert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Beast awakens; cold, alone, and entirely human somewhere in the forest snow-covered forest. He's not sure why he's there, or how it happened, but either way he isn't very happy.</p><p>Or, alternatively: </p><p>Names are important. It's a pity the Beast can't remember his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Snow and Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> omg this is so late i apologize. I talked about writing this fic like months ago back when OTGW first came out and then I procrastinated like a pro until now.
> 
> This is like my first major fanfiction project ever, so excuse me if its terrible (I have like two plot points maybe so I'm basically flying blind here. if you want to come plot things with me hit me up on tumblr). I don't have a beta so if i do something stupid like butcher a word or flagrantly ignore the rules of english grammar do tell.
> 
> Thefandomexpert.tumblr.com  
> Enjoy and Comment (or go yell at me at me at the url above)~!

Cold.

 

It was cold.

 

Very cold.

 

It hurt.

 

He might have been more concerned about that, had he been able to remember what that meant.

 

Were his eyes open?

 

Maybe.

 

Everything was wrong, white and brown and black blending into blurred nothingness.

 

Yes, his eyes were open.

 

White.

 

For all there was darkness above him and shadows flitting past his jumbled memory there was quite a lot of white.

 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized he was lying in the snow, but all he did was blink slowly.

 

A snowflake was on his eyelash.

 

He stayed like that for a while, thinking, but not really, barely there, shadows shifting and blurring into the snow around him.

 

He felt like he should know them, the shadows. Like if he asked them of something they would listen. But it was only for a moment and then the thought was gone, and he was left, barely breathing, blinking again.

 

At some point, he did not know how long it had been (perhaps hours, possibly minutes, maybe days, he wasn't really counting), he realized there was another shape, another being in his limited line of vision. A voice, too, he heard. It wavered in and out, he couldn't understand what was said, and only blinked.

 

His vision turned black as whatever it was lifted him up, and then he was moving.

 

The figure holding him was shades of muddled brown and grey and sometimes he thought he could make out eyes, peering down into his own, but the next step jostled him and his vision lost it’s focus.

 

Vaguely, he wondered if he should struggle, but he found he didn't know how, arms and legs remaining limp. Even as the jarring steps made the pain he only half-registered flair, he couldn't even flinch.

 

Eventually, through the unsteady jerking up and down in the figure’s arms, the swirling shadows in his vision grew stronger, until black and nothingness was all there was.

  
  



	2. Blood and Oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka the beast gets owned pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh wow you can really tell this is my first fic huh  
> in my defense, the majority of this that hadn't been drafted last year was written on my phone in the backstage of Ram's Head Live in a fit of pre-show nerves.

Eleanor sat on her knees on the floor, dress tucked under her legs, toying with a small branch. She sat, fidgeting next to the remains of what had been a large pile of sticks on one side and a large nest of blankets on the other. Even with the amount of layers, she could still tell the boy inside was shivering violently. She winced, and absently fed the branch in her hand to the crackling fire. At least it wasn’t like before. When her father had first returned with the boy, he’d been dangerously still; so still she’d thought him dead.

 

The boy was strange, to say the least. He was maybe just a few years older than herself, with dark shoulder-length hair that curled a bit at the bottom, silky and black. Markings crawled and twisted their way up and down his skin like dark branches. His nails were sharp, and when she had dared to get closer to his mouth to check his breath she had found his incisors and canines sharp and white. The only article of clothing he appeared to own was a cape, sewn in with raven feathers. It was thin and light but strangely warm. She had draped it over the fire to dry out, and it hung like a shadow over the mantelpiece.

 

But perhaps the strangest thing about him though was the fact that he was alive and, other than shaking like a leaf, currently physically unharmed. Eleanor could have sworn on Beatrice’s wings that his hands and feet had been frozen black with frostbite when her father had trucked the boy through the front door, but within the hour the blackness had receded to his fingertips, leaving only a healthy color and the dark clawing designs etched into his skin. She’d lived in the Unknown for as long as she could remember. She’d been alone for quite a bit of that time. She’d seen a lot of things. That was not something she’d seen before.

 

And yet he was familiar. And that was just plain unsettling.

 

Heavy footsteps in the hall alerted her to her father's presence. She looked up as the old man entered the room, a bundle of sticks held in one arm.

 

"For the fire." His voice was gruff. She nodded and took the bundle from him, not moving from her place on the floor.

 

"Thank you." Silence fell. The twig she'd fed the fire cracked. The boy shifted under the blankets. "Father...do you know him?"

 

The old man frowned at the blanket nest, and for a moment she was reminded of that day that he had returned to the house, before he'd noticed her at the door.

 

"I don't know, Eleanor." He gave the boy another troubled look and turned. She frowned in turn. Her father never avoided the question unless it was about the time he spent away from home. The doorway creaked close behind him, his footsteps starting a moment later, fading towards the kitchen. Or was he heading for the study? She couldn't tell.

 

The boy shifted again, and this time me made a noise in the back of his throat. A low, painful moaning that made the hairs on her neck stand up on end. Shaking the feeling off, she shuffled closer to him, gently moving a few wayward strands of hair out of his face. "...hey." Her voice was soft, not wanting to startle him. His brow furrowed, etchings on his face flowing and shifting with his skin. He brought a hand up to the side of his head, as if he had a headache which, she realized, was quite possible.

 

Any and all thoughts of hers fell away as he blearily opened his eyes. His perfectly white, round, glowing eyes.

 

"You..." Her own brown eyes widened as her mind kicked into overdrive, falling backwards away from him onto the ground. The boy - no he wasn't human he was the beast - sat up slowly, blinking and holding a hand to his temple,a blanket clutched in the other. He gave another groan, and then looked at the girl on the floor. He squinted at her, as if he couldn't quite remember her. His eyes flicked around the room quickly, lingering on the fire for a moment before returning to Eleanor.

 

"Uh, are you-" whatever he was about to say cut it off as her fist connected with his jaw.

 

" _YOU!_ " She hissed, before she all but jumped on him.

 

"Hey wha- **HEY**!" He pried a hand away from his throat, eyes glowing angrily. The two struggled, and though Eleanor got in a few particularity hard hits in it was clear the boy outmatched her in strength. _But not in determination_ , she thought grimly,and it continued until he finally got a hold of her other wrist, holding her at arms length.

 

The door to the room slammed open, and for the first time in a long while the woodsman was speechless. There on the floor was the boy he'd (correctly; if the markings and cape hadn't confirmed it, his eyes definitely did) assumed to be the Beast of the unknown, struggling to hold a very, very angry Eleanor above him. His daughter, still trying to reach her hands to the boy's neck, was seething, a steady stream of insults pouring out of her mouth.

 

" _What_ is going on?" The woodsman at last found his voice, ax held limply at his side. He'd been prepared for the worst, but it didn't look like it would be needed. Taking advantage of Eleanor's momentary distraction as she realized her father was in the room, the beast managed to finally shove her off.

 

The girl landed on her back at her father's feet, and made to lunge at the Beast again, but the woodsman placed a hand on her shoulder.

 

"Dear..." He was frowning in the boy's direction. She made a noise of protest and followed his gaze. The boy was crouched against the wall, one hand covering his nose which was dripping...was that oil? Whatever it was, it was black, and probably his equivalent of blood. _Good_. He glared at her from across the room, and she returned the favor. Three identical lines of pain ran down her left cheek. His nails must have scratched her at some point. "What happened?" The girl looked up incredulously at her father.

 

"He's the beast!" She said angrily, as if that explained everything. The woodsman sighed.

 

"Yes, I know-"

  
"You knew?!" Her voice climbed an octave. She stood, and before her father could respond she shoved him through the doorway. "We need to talk." She slammed the door shut behind her, and for the second time the beast was left alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started re-watching otgw today, to make sure i got all my facts straight (and because lets be honest it's a blast). I think the hardest part is finding a young body for the beast that'll fit his voice.


	3. Alone With your Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which The Beast is an angry sinnamon roll and the Woodsman sighs. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow I'm a piece of shit for not updating this sooner??? what's it been, like a year??? god i'm terrible this is why i don't write fanficion. The best part is i had like 90% of it done and ran into writers block during the argument and could not for the life of me get past it so anyway um rIGHT so Shadowfangirl15 did this [Lovely Lovely Fanart](http://shadowfangirl15.deviantart.com/art/OTGW-The-Beast-519999368) of our dearest Beast! and with that, lets continue, yeah?

When he’d woken up, his mind had still been fuzzy. He had been tired, and light-headed. (He wasn’t supposed to be. Something was wrong.) He had been covered in blankets, and the room was warm (A fire, he was near a fire.) but he could still feel a distinctly sharp, uncomfortable feeling creeping along his bones that made him want to shiver. (He was not meant to be cold. Never cold. Something was very wrong.) He sat up, wincing as stiff muscles protested and a ringing in his ears he hadn’t noticed before rose in volume. There was a girl sitting next to him. (He knew her. She had been useful once. Bait.) He tried to place her in a specific memories, amidst the ringing and the fuzziness, and he’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t noticed the fist aimed at his face until it was too late.

 

His mind was clear now. He could remember. He was a great calamity. (The greatest.) He roamed the wooded Unknown in the dark of knight and turned beautiful winter deadly. (He made the trees, he stole the souls. Adults were fun to play with. Children were his favorite.) The townsfolk wrote songs of him, (He, in turn, would sing his own.) others would only suffer hearing his name to warn travellers who had wandered their way through. (They would not wander out.) He was the black shadow in the night, the lantern bearer, The Beast.

 

He’d just been bested by a 15 year old human.

 

He winced, and drew his hand away from his nose. Pain at least was something he was familiar with. Oil stuck to his hand, adding to the dark patterns on his skin. He scissored his bloody fingers slowly, watching in silent fascination (The oil was his blood. Don’t let it run out). He couldn’t remember ever bleeding. He shivered, and suddenly he remembered he was cold, too. He was wearing a cream nightgown, now with a smear of oil down the front. In the back of his mind he figured it must have been one of the girl’s, but he ignored the idea in favor of finding his cloak (He had one, he knew.). It would be warm. (Safe. It would be safe.) The beast raised his head, straining to hear anything. There were angry, muffled voices from outside (The girl, the Woodsman.); he couldn’t hear what they said, and so he slowly, cautiously, moved away from his place in the corner back towards the fire and the messy pile of blankets, strewn out across the floor haphazardly. Pausing again to glance at the doorway (The voices were still there.) he surveyed the rest of the room. A fireplace, still crackling, a pile of sticks scattered on the floor, (Not his wood. Not the trees. No oil.) the swept wood floor and dark paint on the walls. A square of black on the mantelpiece caught his eye; a cloak, (It was his.) folded and pressed.

 

He lifted a corner, watching as it unraveled down to the floor. It was smooth and made no noise when the bottom hit the floor and the excess pooled around his feet. The darkness was familiar.

 

He swung the cloak around his shoulders, letting it settle. The inky blackness swung closed and the cold seeped out of him. He inspected it for a moment, raising an arm to watch at how the feathers rippled when they moved. When it slipped off his raised arm he instead turned his attention to the black markings crawling down the appendage. It wasn’t until heavy footsteps approached the door that he looked up and realized the voices had stopped. The footsteps stopped outside the door, and The Beast turned towards the door, eyes narrowing. Slowly, the little round handle turned, and the door creaked open. It was the woodsman, wrinkled face creased with worry and thought.

 

“Woodsman.”

 

The Woodsman looked at him for another moment, before sighing, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The Beast blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched downwards, his eyes following the Wooodsman as the man turned from the door and bent to retrieve some of the scattered sticks from the floor. The beast cocked his head, the cloak moving soundlessly as he shifted his weight. He started again.

 

“Woodsman.”

 

The Woodsman’s eyes met his.

 

“What do you want, Beast?” The creature in question bared his teeth. What sort of game was the old man playing at? The Woodsman cut off his retort with a look. “If it’s about your...situation, I can’t tell you much.” The Beast closed his mouth with a snap, glaring at him.

 

“I want to know what you wished to accomplish by bringing me here.” The Beast huffed, shoulders hunching up as he crossed his arms. He’d always been the one to hold the advantage; being on the other end of the bargain was unsettling to say the least. The Woodsman straightened, and faced the Beast again. The ex-demon averted his eyes. He wished the old man would just tell him what sort of revenge he planned to exact and get on with it.

 

“Oh, is that what this is about?” The Woodsman returned to gathering sticks. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

 

“What?” The Beast barked. “How could you ‘not really thought about it’? I’m the Beast.”

 

“I noticed.” The old man inspected one of the sticks before placing it in his hand with the others. The Beast gave a frustrated growl and sat back on the floor with a thump. He crossed his arms, but quickly let them fall to his sides when the nails on his right hand unconsciously dug too hard into his left arm. He steamed there for a few moments, watching the Woodsman methodically tidy up the room, switching from picking up sticks to folding blankets with the same sort of weary perseverance The Beast had come to expect from him. His nose throbbed. He grimaced.

 

The Woodsman finished with the blankets, placing the last one atop the pile on the couch. He turned to The Beast, looked him over, and sighed again. The Beast wished he’d stop the sighing thing. It seemed vaguely insulting, but he couldn’t explain why, which didn’t really matter because it annoyed him and that was ‘why’ enough. The Woodsman was still looking at him, and The Beast realized he’d relaxed his expression while he’d sat on the floor. He quickly leveled The Woodsman with a glare.

 

“What.”

 

The Woodsman sighed again. The Beast made a disgruntled noise and bared his teeth.

 

“Dinner is in an hour, if you’d like to join us.”

 

The Beast snorted. As if that was going to happen. One such as he had no need of human sustenance.

  
The Woodsman shrugged, sighed again -- really did he have to keep doing that? -- and, after a moment’s contemplation, quietly exited the room and left The Beast alone. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again i'm reaaaaaaaally sorry about not getting this out sooner! But, I've had time to think about my plot a bit more now, so the next couple chapters should be out quicker...hopefully, lmao


	4. Keep Your Enemies Closer (to the Sun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Symbolism! because I think I'm a Good Writer TM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayayayayay guess who's updating! and just in time too, because i'm doing nanowrimo so ya'll won't be seeing me for a while whoops :P jkjk I'll see if I can't at least start something while i'm rushing around to hit 50k on my independent stuff.
> 
> and don't ask me why The Beast likes cheese he just does ok.

Ok. So apparently he needed ‘human sustenance’ now. Great.

He’d listened through the door for a while, the girl snapped and The Woodsman spoke in steady, tired tones and then there’d been a good amount of relative silence. He’d inspected the room for a few aimless minutes, glared at the fire that was finally beginning to burn down, and watched the snow fall outside of the window until it was too dark to see much of anything but his own reflection in the glass. By that time the noise had returned, heavy boots tramping about, double checking windows and doors against the storm, and a lighter patter following the boots about, tidying and triple-checking. At some point, the heavy boots paused outside of his door, but the handle didn’t turn and the old man continued on. Then goodnights were exchanged, and both pairs of feet and voices trudged up the staircase.

With nothing else to do, The Beast had gradually become aware of a gnawing emptiness in his stomach, and it had only gotten worse as the night dragged on. The fire had burnt down to it’s last coals, and the room was cooling. The Beast paced. The feeling in stomach got worse. He paused before the door, hand hovering over the handle. He growled; they were asleep, and even should they be awake, they should be no concern of his!

The door swung open, and The Beast stepped out into the hallway. It was dark, pitch black, actually, but that didn’t mean anything when your eyes were practically headlights. He peered about, curious despite himself, and found himself in a small corridor. Looking down to his left, the light from his eyes fell upon another dark door, but he wasn’t interested in that. The steps were in front of him, going off and up to the left up into the dark recesses of the house. The kitchen, he knew, was beyond the steps, and so he continued on. At first he’d cringed as certain boards creaked under his weight, but reminding himself of his position as The Beast, and when he could hear no movement from up above, he stopped worrying about it. Past the front of the stairs, he could make out two other rooms, he could see a little wooden table and a china cabinet through a doorway, but a something flashed from the light of his eyes and he paused to inspect it. It was the bolt to the front door, and he realized suddenly that it was unlocked, and not even completely closed; he could hear the wind from the storm. He’d heard The Woodsman check that, earlier, before the hunger had set in completely. He debated for a moment, before deciding he was much to curious and far to un-afraid to ignore something like this.

The door opened. Still holding the handle, the beast stepped out onto the porch. It was still very dark; the moon apparently wasn’t shining tonight. The wood was cold beneath his feet, but it wasn’t uncomfortably so. He was watching the way the light bounced off the banister to his left when the girl surprised him.

She looked angry, but not quite as volatile as before, so he didn’t step back. “What are you doing out here?”

He didn’t answer.

He was almost a head taller than her but her suspicious glare wasn’t any less effective. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No.”

That shut her up. It occurred to him, though, that even though he wasn’t, she must be. She was hunched under several blankets and an assortment of shawls, and she was shivering.

“Were you...leaving?” She ventured.

“No.” He really hadn’t even thought about it. Now that she said it, though, he didn’t see why he shouldn’t. And then his stomach decided to remind him why he’d been out of the room in the first place. Loudly.

The girl looked at him in mild surprise for a moment, and he stared dumbly back. She crossed her arms and smirked at him. He glared at her, but she only shifted her stance, as if to sass him further.

“Hungry, huh?”

“Maybe.” He answered a little too quickly, and her eyes narrowed.

“Huh.” She looked at him for a moment, and he stared back, displeased and a bit more than slightly unsettled at her sudden change in attitude.

She nodded resolutely and pushed past him back into the house. He followed. The girl waited until he was inside, then shut the door, bolting it quietly. She motioned for him to follow and led him past the open doorway to a little wooden door a bit beyond that. She opened the door with as little noise possible and slipped inside. Padding after her, he gave the little room a quick look-over, a crude little table with a chair sat off to the side, out of the way of a crowded but clean-looking kitchen space. He returned his attention to the girl, who was squinting up at him again in thought.

“No,” she muttered after a moment, and began to rummage through the cabinets for something.

“What?” The Beast tilted his head, confused.

“Well,” she explained, as she triumphantly snatched a box of matches from the cabinet, “I was thinking about using your eyes as lights, but I figured it’d be better just to use a candle.” She lit one and used it to light several others placed about the little room before putting it back on the table where she’d gotten it. She turned to The Beast and pointed at the chair. “Sit.”

The Beast sat. The girl dropped a rectangular thing onto the table in front of him, and he inspected it curiously.

“It’s bread.” She supplied helpfully. He grunted. She stuck a roll of soft cheese on the table, and stuck a knife into the center of it. Eleanor grabbed the slice of bread out of his hands and waved it in front of his face. “Bread,” she repeated. She picked up the knife. “We put the cheese,” she swiped a corner of the cheese, “onto the bread.” She spread the cheese over the bread and gave him a close-lipped smile. The Beast suddenly got the feeling he was being treated like an idiot. She held out the piece of bread. The Beast looked at her, then looked at the bread. He took it.

Well it wasn’t terrible, but without any real comparison point The Beast couldn’t really tell. But the texture wasn’t unpleasant, and the gnawing in his stomach was slowly fading. He was about halfway through his third bite when he realized the girl hadn’t moved. She was just standing there, staring at him. Well, it was more like glaring, but the point was she hadn’t moved. He stopped chewing and glared back at her.

“What.”

Her upper lip curled into an ugly sneer. He swallowed and frowned, his mouth mirroring hers. The candle flickered as it burned down lower. Neither moved.

“Eleanor, you should be in bed.” The Woodsman peered into the kitchen blearily, carrying a little candle of his own. She didn’t even blink.

“Couldn’t sleep, father.” There was silence from all three for a moment before she added reluctantly, “And he got hungry.”

The Woodsman stood there for a moment, sleepy mind taking longer than normal to register the bread in The Beast’s hand and the cheese on the table, and then he nodded and turned to go back upstairs with a muffled “try not to kill each other” thrown over his shoulder. The two stayed in their positions until they both heard the soft click of the master bedroom’s door.

She moved first, shifting from one foot to the next, blinking and looking away, sneer dropping to more of a worried frown. The Beast leaned back in the chair. Eleanor, that was her name and he felt he should use it, was steadying her breathing. He hadn’t noticed she’d ever been breathing erratically in the first place. She glanced at him again. There was something in her eyes; it wasn’t quite fear, he knew fear and this was like it but it wasn’t exactly like it, this was more desperate and irrational, like if he’d asked her what had set her off she wouldn’t have been able to provide an answer. He dropped his gaze.

“I hate you.”

The Beast blinked. Lots of people must, he knew that, but no one had ever said that too his face before. He should be angry. He wasn’t. Eleanor situated herself in the far corner of the room, drawing her knees up to her chest under her nest of blankets. The Beast blinked again. She was ignoring him, so The Beast went back to eating the remainder of the bread. They stayed like that for a while. The Beast gradually finished off the bread and started discreetly eating the cheese straight, and at some point he realized Eleanor was trying very hard not to doze off. The sky outside was getting lighter. The room began to brighten from natural sunlight through the window above the sink and the small back door he hadn’t noticed off to the left of the fireplace. He stayed in the little wooden chair, watching the room grow gradually brighter even as the candle burned out. He could feel Eleanor watching him despite being half-asleep and he could hear The Woodsman upstairs tromping about, probably preparing for the day ahead, but he didn’t feel that tired and he didn’t feel like going back to the other room so he sat at the table and licked more cheese off the tip of the knife and watched the shadows shift as the light chased them off.

The Beast couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That said, I know I just pulled two Beast chapters in a row, so uh, I suppose I should start this now. I know the next chapter will be Eleanor's POV, but after that I think I'll start letting ya'll vote on the POV? I'll have to throw in Beast chapters every so often regardless, so that ya'll can see [SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS] start to happen, and i'll have to have executive decision because i need plot things to happen but ??? anyway I wanna keep everything within the Woodsman's family for now, but the other characters'll show up at some point I promise. Just...lets make sure The Beast is acclimated. And that he'll be in good enough shape to get the heck outta dodge when Beatrice realizes who he is. Poor dude thought being beat by Eleanor was bad hahaha good luck with that buddy


End file.
